


cause oh, that gave me such a fright

by Lunas



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Idk I really don't know what this is... I wrote it in an hour, Love and being scared of loving and metaphors for homophobia????, M/M, Tw for spiders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 14:51:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10788918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunas/pseuds/Lunas
Summary: Marcus is terrified of bugs.





	cause oh, that gave me such a fright

**Author's Note:**

> For my anon :*

Marcus Bell was afraid of bugs. It was one of his best kept secrets, and probably the hardest one to keep. Any type of bug caused a deep revulsion, shaking him to his very core, and a need to run away screaming.

It would be only mildly annoying if he were to be found out, he knew. It would cause friendly teasing from everyone he knew. No one would blink twice at a grown man shrieking at a spider. But still. He had his reasons. 

Of course Sherlock finds out. 

‘You know, that's but a common house spider.’

Marcus almost flinches at the sudden interruption. He had been sneaking looks at the spider a few feet away whilst pretending to be interested in the case file in front of him, and Sherlock's words take a second to sink in. 

Marcus just stares at him. 

‘There's no need to be anxious, the American house spider is not poisonous, and will never attack unprovoked.’

‘I'm not anxious,’ Marcus says, betraying himself by shooting another glance and the creature.

‘You certainly seem it.’ Sherlock is studying him with a nakedly curious expression, but Marcus can't detect a hint of judgement from it, so he just shrugs.

‘I'm not.’

‘Very well.’

Minutes pass by with nothing but the sound of pages turning, and the occasional clink of a mug of tea being put down. 

The spider moves slightly closer, and Marcus is about to make an excuse to get up from his chair when Sherlock says, ‘perhaps we should relocate it to more comfortable surroundings.’

‘What?’ sometimes Sherlock speaks as if he believes everyone will immediately know what he is talking about, as if there is no need to further explain where a thought came from or what it is regarding. It is obnoxious as it is endearing. 

‘The spider.’

‘I'm not afraid of the damn spider.’

‘You have looked over at that spider approximately three times per minute, and your body is tensing up the closer it crawls towards you. It would be foolish to try to convince me it is not making you uncomfortable in some way.’

Marcus, maybe in a harsher tone than he means to use, says, ‘Jesus, Holmes, will you let it go.’

He regrets it when Sherlock ducks his head slightly. Maybe the use of his surname was a bit too far. 

He sighs deeply and mutters ‘I don't like bugs.’

It's not like he can keep hiding it. 

Sherlock's gaze drifts up to meet his own, in a timid manner that Marcus is not accustomed to seeing. 

Then he jumps up from his chair, a single bounce and he's standing ramrod straight, his arms plastered to his sides. 

‘I'm sure it will be alright in the front garden.’ he announces, and immediately sets to work. 

Marcus watches, curious, as sherlock finds a piece of paper from the bookshelf and makes his way to the corner where the dreaded creature lounges.

He leans down and carefully slips the sheet under it, keeping his hand cupped in case it tries to make a run for it. 

Marcus ends up staring at that spot in the floor even as his companion leaves with the spider in hand, and is still gazing at it when he returns. 

He makes out Sherlock's figure at the door from the corner of his eye. 

‘Around thirty percent of the US population has some form of arachnophobia,’ the shape at the door offers. 

Marcus thinks this over for a few seconds. ‘I have a fear of all bugs.’

‘I only fear the government surveillance kind.’

Marcus finds himself smiling at the joke, and looks up to meet Sherlock's gaze. The other immediately looks away. 

‘There should be no shame in fear.’

A part of Marcus feels angry, almost, that this is such a big deal to him. And that Sherlock can tell. Others would laugh off their disgust of creepy crawlies, would joke along with everyone. But for him. It's more. 

It's people knowing, ever since he was a kid, what he was. It's classmates taunting and his father sneering and family friends and strangers alike whispering in voices loud enough to reach him. 

That anything, from a slightly effeminate fear to a manner of speech can cause it. 

And yet Sherlock doesn't laugh, and he doesn't question why he hides it. He just tells him not to be ashamed.

‘I don't know why, alright?’ he says, ‘but I just don't want anyone to know.’

He thinks Sherlock can tell that it's a bit of a lie. He wonders if Sherlock can tell why. 

‘I.. Apologise if I wrenched it out from you.’

‘No,’ Marcus says softly, ‘that's okay.’

It does feel alright. Until. 

Well, until Sherlock’s face suddenly turns gleeful and he says, ‘I must show you something!’

Marcus side eyes him. 

Sherlock bounces once, twice on his heels, then reaches his hand out to him. 

Marcus looks down at it, and a second later, it vanishes. 

If he didn't know better, he would imagine that the hand had been extended out to take. To hold. 

Sherlock's face is suspiciously red, his previously offered hand clenched at his side. 

He clears his throat and says quickly, ‘come along, detective.’

Marcus finds himself staring after the man trotting quickly up the stairs for a few stupefied seconds before he follows.  
Sherlock leads him all the way up to the roof of the Brownstone. Just as every time he's been here before, Marcus is in awe of the view. He turns in place, trying to take in the immense sight of New York, his home, sinking into the deep twilight. As he turns, his gaze drops on Sherlock, who is watching him.

Sherlock gestures him to follow, and Marcus does, still half concentrated on the skyscrapers reflecting skies. 

But when he sees what Sherlock is going to show him, he stops.

It's not that he never noticed the beehives before; he'd always kept a watchful eye on them while up here. But he'd never had any reason to come close to them, no Sherlock animatedly gesturing he come closer. 

For a terrible, frightening second, he thinks Sherlock will let them out on him, thinking that facing fears will cure them. 

But Sherlock says, ‘there's fine!’ when he's some feet away, and Marcus breathes in relief. 

‘I present to you’, Sherlock says, swivelling one of the hives so that Marcus can see the bees inside, ‘Euglassia Watsonia!’

Marcus frowns curiously at the name, to which Sherlock begins to explain, ‘they were bred by myself, a hybrid of your regular bee and the Osmia Avosetta. Named of course, after our dear friend Watson.

‘These are the only of its kind. The rarest insect you will ever be an observer of. They're extremely docile,’

Sherlock turns his whole body to him and Marcus is suddenly stunned by the delight clearly visible on his face.

‘I have been tending to them almost daily. Whereas other bees can survive on their own for months on end, there is always some sort of problem with these little ones!’ his hands move excitedly as he talks, they flap up and down as if he cannot contain it. 

Marcus listens to the words, barely taking them in, half understanding none of them, and scuffles closer to the man saying them. 

‘The tunnels they build!’ he exclaims, turning to study it closely, ‘beautiful, as intricate as an ants.’

Marcus hardly glances at the tunnels.

Barely registering how close he's gotten, he gazes at Sherlock's face. He's never seen him so comfortable, as if he's forgotten there is an audience to his happiness. 

‘I'm writing a paper on their behaviour, although of course I have only access to it here, and not in the wild. The difference it would make... ‘

And then sherlock glances back at him,his focus removed from his bees for a second, and they both seem to realise at once that they are barely inches apart. 

But he doesn't stop, isn't interrupted. His face doesn't cool down, still soft and warm and his last sentence trails of gently, the ellipses almost heard out loud. 

Marcus glances down at Sherlock's hands, which have gone almost still beside him, and notices he is just as still inside. 

The bees buzz gently, and Sherlock barely breathes as he says, ‘it makes no difference to anyone, this fear of yours. Nobody sees you as any less.’

Marcus pauses before speaking. ‘it's. I've always been scared of this. I've always known, and so has everyone around me. And they didn't let me.’

He shuts his jaw tightly, and with a deep inhale, grabs Sherlock's hand. 

Sherlock's hand shuts around Marcus’ tightly and his eyes grow just as fearful as his own. 

But he smiles gently, a sort of odd, uneven thing, unused to existing on his face. 

Marcus holds hands with Sherlock, both grasping so tightly it hurts, a bit less fearful than he was before. The bees take no notice of them.

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt was 'Sherlock showing Marcus his beehives and being all soft bc he loves his lil friends and Marcus falls in love right then and there bc look at this blustery British marshmallow'  
> But my mood made it something else entirely??


End file.
